I Remember...

Good memories Old Mountain....so many i can relate too.

Our family hunting traditions took two big hits in the early 2000's, one we knocked down our old camp to build a brand new one, and two the new regs changed the way we hunted up there (from drivers to stillhunters).

The new regs we learned to live with and even like, but that old camp I miss. It housed memories. Maybe the new one will get there someday too....and all will be right once again, but I am struggling to dig those memories up without posts like this, so it is greatly appreciated.

I remember waiting in line for the pay phone....and I remember the first time I got a buck up there, a 9" inch spike, and I made darn sure to tell my Mom on the other end of the phone line VERY LOUDLY about it...LOL, so all the guys in line could hear the story. Remember one guy, a complete stranger, patting me on the back and saying "nice going kid" , as I went back over to the warmth of the truck....what happened to those guys? Come to think of it, I looked forward to being one, oh how times are changing.

GOOD POST

Wonderful posts and memories, gentlemen! Thanks for sharing.

I remember a single barrel, 16 gauge with two wood screws and some sort of tape around the pistol grip, and how it kicked the snot out of me at 9 years old and tumbled me off a decaying chestnut log in Hickory Bear Pen as I attempted to harvest a chipmunk!

I remember Dad laughing about it as I struggled to appear tough with tears streaming down my cheeks. I don't remember if we ever checked on the chipmunk, however.

I remember Dad's brown felt hat, and how I wanted one just like it when I became a real squirrel hunter, and I wanted it to smell just like his. I remember his faded, canvas hunting coat with its blood-stained game pouch, and the red bandanna Mom had spread into a square and sewn to the back.

I remember the wonderful aroma of spent shotgun shells, the old paper ones, and an October-chilled russet apple or two from the long-ignored apple trees on Sonny Howdershelt's grown-over farm above Manheim and the Cheat River.

Cancer took Dad before we could spend many outings in the squirrel woods together, the single barrel shotgun wasn't fancy enough for either my brother or myself, and disappeared somewhere along the line, unfortunately. I have a felt hat I wear after Christmas when carrying the flintlock, but I can't seem to get it to smell quite the same.

Memories are precious things, gentlemen. Never let them fade. Pull them back every once in a while, shake off the dust of time, and enjoy their re-newed warmth and resulting tears.

So many memories, I remember my old Swiss grandfather calling squirrels for me and saying"If you miss one more I am not going to call for you" I remember my first squirrel sitting with my dad and my new Savage 410/22 over and under and my first rabbit with him and my first buck near the old airport up near Elmelton Pa., the hunts with all my family and friends. Time passes so quickly but I can remember all in my minds eye. I especially remember a hunt near Moraine with my Dad and brothers with about a foot of snow, I saw a buck comming toward us and showed Dad but he could not put horns on it (four pt I think) he would not take the shot and I would not shoot because I wanted him to have the deer.
The critter ran past my BIL and he missed. Sorry just got carried away after reading the great posts prior, strange what the outdoors does to us. Now I have my gradson and my sons that I have many great memories, ...there are those who can live without wild things and those who cannot..I cannot.

Great posts, guys.
We just had our first grandson in June, and it got me to thinking about when I could start taking him up to our beloved mountains, and making new memories, God willing.
Thinking about that brought back some memories of my own, and reading your posts brought back some more.
Like our beagles, and their distinctive howls and screams, pheasant and rabbit hunting near Robesonia, Pa, and waiting for 9:00 AM exactly, for the season to start (and the line of hunters stretched along the entire road waiting too).
Watching deer go by on the cars and trucks of successful hunters, from a seat in the Wellsboro diner. My own son's first deer, a doe, and the picture of him with my dad. The monster 8 pt he got two years ago when he was home from his 5th tour in OIF and OEF. The true sound of silence when a wet snow falls in Tioga County. Geez...no wonder we fell in love with this. Thanks for sharing.